5 things on my mind: Battlehawks fizzle, Cards run in place, and ‘Mayor of Kingstown’ owns Sunday TV night again
A few things on my mind as Monday completes a lap.
Thank you, Paramount Plus, for believing in the old style of episodic television show release schedules. Instead of dumping 8-12 hours of a show onto a regular person’s weekly shoulders, it dishes out one per week. Every Sunday, PP+ audiences are given a crime show treat with Taylor Sheridan and Hugh Dillon’s Mayor of Kingstown. Dillon, a very good character actor who frequently pops up in Sheridan’s work, acts on the show as well.
What’s easily Sheridan’s second best show behind Yellowstone (standings could change by the end of the year) stars the resourceful Jeremy Renner as the unofficial fixer, aka mayor, of a blue collar Pittsburgh town. Renner’s Mike McLusky and his brothers run an alliance system between the prisons, gangs, and police with the hopes of keeping the peace.
Currently in its third season and delivering a Sunday thrill-no lower rung character on this show is ever safe-Kingstown flexes the resilient muscles of its lead star. Granted, the supporting cast and writing are taut as fuck and the show never really wavers. But Renner is the glue that holds the plot and quality of the show together. The man gets run over by a snowplow, and doesn’t just survive but keeps working and pumped out a fresh season of fine TV show drama. Go get some. 22 episodes to stream with another eight coming each week.
Once again, they get released once a week. It’s a beautiful thing. Embrace it. Later this month, we’ll have an entire season of Hulu’s amazing series, The Bear, dumped on our shoulders all at once. Like a kitchen rush at the restaurant, Carmen would admit to the overwhelmed nature of such a generous gift. One at a time allows for proper marination. With the amount of television at our disposal, a limitation on episodes is a good thing. Take it slow, make the date last.
The St. Louis Battlehawks couldn’t outlast the San Antonio Brahmas, a team they beat twice in the regular season. On Sunday in a game that could have sent them to the championship game next week (also in St. Louis, weirdly enough), the Ka-Kaw crew couldn’t muster more than three points before the fourth quarter. They lost due to an overturned touchdown, stupid penalties, and coming out of the gate as fast as Yadier Molina ran down the first base line during his prime.
A.J. McCarron hobbling around on a bad ankle is about as hopeful as Kurt Warner with a bad thumb. Receivers can’t drop two of the first three passes of the game’s first series. With Dany Garcia-one of the UFL’s biggest investors, along with Dwayne “The Rock” Johnson-in town talking about the amazing impact of St. Louis’s league-best popularity, the Battlehawks laid a dud. Next week, the championship game is held at the Dome as well, leaving only a slight embarrassing feeling.
As Matt Rocchio said on 101.1 ESPN this morning, it brought back all those disappointing yet oddly addicting feelings from past St. Louis Rams aftershocks. The day after doesn’t leave a great taste in anyone’s mouth, especially in a league that could disappear all at once. Let’s hope the city’s rabid support of the team carries over well, helping the league owners smell what the Battlehawks and the rest of the United Football League has cooking.
Here’s some advice. Pack that dome next weekend. Don’t think about the Battlehawks in this case, but about the league as a whole and its future. Packing the house for the winner-take-all game would be a kick in the ass to any doubter of this league who has a say in its fate and deep pockets. This is a football town. It’s a sports town, and we’re never afraid to show the world how loud we can get. St. Louis will not hold the title this year, but they can host an incredible finish to the season. Show them what we’re made of. Heck, how much are tickets?
Tickets to a St. Louis Cardinals game are pretty cheap. When you can only pack 34,000+ into a Saturday home game with the Colorado Rockies, there’s a problem brewing. It doesn’t matter if the team buys or sells this year; Bill DeWitt Jr. and John Mozeliak need to hatch a comeback plan. Record be damned, this team doesn’t have a strong connection with their fanbase right now.
Anyone who knows this franchise’s history understands that a sea of red shows up in Cards games basically no matter what over the past 30 years. There have been slow moments, but mostly a steady flow of three million-plus. While numbers are down in other areas across the league, St. Louis usually fills the house once school gets out. Like the trend had shown over the past few years, that previously trustable notion is no longer true.
Like Will McAvoy proclaims at the onset of HBO’s brilliant (at least the first season) series, The Newsroom, the Cardinals aren’t the greatest franchise in the world (or Central) anymore, but boy they used to be. Mozeliak and DeWitt Jr. have to dig in and think about what this team needs.
You can sell and get some roster and farm depth in return, along with a nice handful of MLB-ready talent. Or, if the record and current standings place hold up, you add a couple big pieces and take one last shot before much-needed offseason moves take place. It’s a pipe dream and something I’ll get into later this week, but the Chicago White Sox are selling.
Having said that, the Cards split a series with the lowly Rockies over the weekend. The Houston Astros took a series from them. Pittsburgh awaits. Is it worth the urge to push the chips in and actually wheel and deal at the deadline? The heck if I know. I don’t want Mo’s job; I just hope he knows what he’s doing. The Cards are a MEH 31-33, good for a tiny piece of second place with the Cubs and Reds and the third wildcard spot.
As Bono once said on a great U2 album, the Cardinals are running to stand still.
Tomorrow will mark my last day as a member of Club Fitness. Almost 20 years after I joined and started taking nearby humans to the gun show, I’m breaking the lease. Well, it’s actually signed and broke. June 11 is the final day that I can scan the code and get a pass to do the same shit over and over again.
While certain people (like my good friend, Elle) who found another lane or twisted it into their own thing will disagree, working out and fitness can feel like Groundhogs Day in a sense. You’re doing mostly the same movements, mastering stillness and good form. After picking up my first weight in a gym back at the YMCA around 1998, I will be without an official gym membership this week.
Sounds kind of groovy, and also like a slow-building kick in the ass. Later this month, I’ll join the wife at Planet Fitness, which is next to a couple stores we shop at and also sits on the same chunk of concrete that the great Kenrick cinema used to operate. The past doesn’t really go anywhere. It turns around and presents itself again, winking as it goes out of view.
The real reason I let the membership lapse and end is the lack of usage since I joined Crescent Plumbing Supply. Yeah, Joe Rotskoff, if you’re reading this, all the blame is headed your way. HA! He is reading this, because that fine gent is a proud paid subscriber of the blog, which you should be as well. Take a moment while I reload the hands and enjoy this stunning Oppenheimer record.
I don’t really need the gym since I started lifting, moving, and setting down plumbing supplies in January of last year. To quote every other baseball player in spring training, I’m in the best shape of my life at 42. I used to go a couple of times a week and mixed in a run with that after I started at Crescent, but lately it’s been far less. When you rack up 15,000 steps and walk seven miles before a shift is complete, is there a need for the gym?
Does a cast iron tub bark loud enough for your muscles to listen? I definitely concur. In order to please my mind, I’ll get into a gym eventually. But the free agency period will be enjoyed. Here’s more advice you didn’t sign up for but are getting anyway: If you have a membership, use it. If not, cut that thing in half and start chasing small chickens in your backyard. Act like Mickey is yelling at you.
What’s the last thing before I go enjoy a homemade patty melt made by Mrs. Buffa, my smoking hot wife? Be kind. Please be fucking kind, pardon my angry Lebanese French. By the way, this is how a man truly works out. Just keep scrolling, my friends.
It doesn’t matter which party you vote for, or what kind of gas you think should go into a scooter. As the year hurtles towards its midway point, I am starting to dread how the rest of 2024 will look. Most of the time, I steer clear of political chatter and just vote. I don’t let it hold a huge place in my head or mind for too long. Due diligence, and then get out.
This fall’s election doesn’t allow me to just stay quiet. Just be as kind with others as you can, because we’re all going through some form of shit. It can be a blend of personal stress brought on by work or a small, annoying aspect of your weekly routine. Every morning I venture out onto the highway with my truck of plumbing, I play defense and stay away from the angry hordes of speeders and “let me finish this text” drivers. I see them inside Schnucks and Walmart, looking as unfit and mad as a person who just walked out of a real haunted house.
I just think we’re all too much against each other, and it’s getting worse. My soapbox is tired of holding my fat ass, so I’m stepping down and going to look for my wife. Be well, kind, and halfway patient as Monday breathes its final gasps of air.
I don’t know what Tuesday’s bringing, but it’s coming.
